


Oh, the People You'll Meet

by TheNillaWafer



Category: Persona 4, Persona 5
Genre: Crossover, First Meetings, Gen, Wild Card, current canon P5/post-canon P4, immovable swagmaster detective meets unstoppable thief gay, light p4 spoilers, manga names, not really romantic but hey you make it gay if you want im down, very light souyo bc of course
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-04-14 13:04:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14136624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNillaWafer/pseuds/TheNillaWafer
Summary: Being a Phantom Thief takes a lot out of him. Through tired eyes and exposed lies, though countless battles and overwhelming power of Persona, the world isn't the same as he once thought it was.Akira finds out he's not the only one with a revolutionary experience like this.





	1. The Storm Clouds Gather

Akira’s gotten far used to the muted mutters of busy commuters anymore, it’s difficult to phase him. It’s astonishing how quickly the city can change a man in just a few short months. 

Still, the streets beyond the smudged glass window stir with bustling crowds--kids, salarymen, vendors, punks and all other walks of life, but none of them mean a thing for the single moment he moves to dive into a bite of his greasy, messy burger and he feels the juices pour out from the corners of his mouth and all over the plate in front of him. 

“Aw, goddammit...!” An annoyed voice chimes in and it takes Akira only a second to pass his gaze from Ann to Ryuji, both perched across from him in the restaurant booth. Ann, and another more stealthy pair of eyes hidden deep in the shadows of a school bag, Morgana, seem to follow suit and all hold back childish snickers as the punk boy tosses a soggy, greasy pair of half-eaten hamburger buns back into his plate in a huff. “S-Someone gimme a goddamn napkin...! Shit’s effin’ everywhere, man...” 

“It’s pretty sad when you can’t even eat a hamburger properly,” A shrill voice makes it way out from the bag and out pops Morgana smugly, teasingly, “then again, I only expect as much from you, Ryuji.”

Ryuji’s chocolate eyes seem to bubble and simmer with underlying annoyance and the edges of his cheeks paint themselves to the color of tumbling cherry blossoms petals in the summer, but before he can even speak, Ann beats him to the punch with a quick rustling of napkins stuffed into his slick, meaty palm. “Geez, here... just wipe it off. It’s only your uniform; not like you’ll see anything on it anyway.” 

Akira moves to survey the catastrophe from his place on the other side of table, and bite back a snicker, avoiding his gaze originally to keep himself from laughing but now it’s ensnared by the hardened stare of steel plated eyes from across the room. They belong to a handsome young man with wispy platinum hair that seems to dance and glimmer in the dim restaurant light like a stage show with every slight movement of his head and thin pursed lips that flex a fine, chiseled jawline. His gaze is intense, but not threatening, Akira deduces, but as he moves to turn away he finds that  _ he simply can’t.  _ The connection can’t be broken and while he racks his brain as to why he feels  _ caught  _ by this intensity sifting through the air, he feels Arsene stir restlessly from within. 

The young man peels his attention away, only for a moment as he speaks to his wide-eyed and curiously frazzled companion across the table—another kind looking young man with longer, thicker brown hair like fresh tree bark—and yet Akira still cannot look away. 

Just as Arsene quickly quiets down, the young man starts again with another return of his silver gaze. He’s out of his seat now; tall, built frame hugged by the contours of his fitted jacket and he begins to make his way over so effortlessly through the tables in big, long strides. 

_ Yes, come closer...!  _ Akira can hear Arsene’s voice rumble intensely in his ears,  _ Closer...! _

With every stride the young man takes, the clarity in his face shows; a stone faced and serious expression, but his eyes are kind and warm, welcoming even. Akira can  _ feel  _ the world around him shift deeper and deeper into a odd, ill-placed darkness, yet it doesn’t seem to frighten him. He welcomes it dearly, in fact, and the young man still marches on in the growing glow of  _ blue.  _

Everything is blue now. Blue walls, blue light, blue flames—

The man smiles, a warm, heart throbbing turn of his lips that isn’t only kind, but  _ confident  _ and for a moment, Akira thinks he’s just reading too far into this. Maybe he’s simply attractive. There’s been plenty of people throughout Akira’s life that, ironically, have stolen his own heart. 

But never like this. This transcends anything Akira’s ever felt before in his life, more than any petty romance or lustful desire. It reminds him vaguely of his awakening back in Kamoshida’s castle when the emotions—rage, contemptment, desire, depression, terror,  _ everything _ —surged through his veins and his heart felt at if it’d combust straight out of his ribcage. 

Arsene is flippant now, raging and screaming like a caged beast just as the man halts at the edge of the table and doesn’t take his gaze away from Akira’s own. Polished steel bores and carves its way into dark granite, the two completely silent and still in each other’s prescience. 

Until—

“Um... H-Hello there...” Akira’s almost taken back by just how soft the man’s steady tone is all while the world of darkness and heavenly blue crumble and give way to a more lively and familiar Big Bang Burger interior. Arsene has even stopped his outbursts at the soothing voice; a once frenzied and rampant beast now roaring softly yet passionately like a tame candle’s flame. 

Akira finally breaks the connection for a mere fraction of a second, reastabling that he’s not alone at the table. Three additional pairs of eyes watch the grown man hesitantly, treading lightly and cautiously. Akira is not one with them. 

When Akira returns with his undivided attention, the man’s expression turns a tad sheepish, eyes darting to the side, “I, um... I hope I’m not bothering anyone, but, um...” He’s hesitant, but the moment their eyes lock once more, Akira  _ feels  _ another voice tear through his body and race like a literal electric shock through his veins and he knows it’s not Arsene. Arsene burns white-hot like a blazing inferno while this,  _ this, _ rips at his muscles and paralyzes him to the core. Who--or rather-- _ what? _

The soft, warm voice reaches his ears once more and send another shock down his spine, “...Have we... met before?” Have they? Akira can’t even begin to think let alone match names and faces as Arsene sings and dances to the scattering lightning inching closer and closer within it seems, bright tendrils of fire licking and lapping high above at the bright light. He thinks of every instance in which he’s come to face to face with society--at prison, at school, at work, on the streets, even in the Metaverse--nothing. Faces of cruel and nefarious folks come to mind, but certainly not this man.

Akira’s hesitation seems obvious, as the young man retracts on his previous actions and begins to grow a bit too anxious. 

“Akira...? H-Hey, Akira...” Ann’s voice never sounded so distant, at least, not in the real world--away from the slipping stream of faltering consciousness in the Metaverse with a looming shadow picking them apart slowly and methodically. He blinks, and the world is finally back in complete and utter focus as he takes a moment to bask in his surroundings as if he’d just arrived in his seat now. The space at Big Bang Burger never felt so open, despite the flock of customers new and old. Ann’s ocean blue eyes are trained carefully onto his own furrowed brow and from the corners of his stare, he can catch Morgana watching wide-eyed from the depths of the school bag while Ryuji’s thick fingers fiddle with the cheap cutlery on the table, presumably primed and ready to fight if further suspicions act up. After a moment of recollection and thought, everyone’s full attention turns back towards the tall, looming figure above them in their seats. 

“...I’m sorry, I... I must’ve been mistaken.” The man’s light and sincere tone still doesn’t deter Ryuji from letting his fingers curl protectively over the piece of plastic before him on the tabletop, gripping the sharp utensil tight in his hand and letting it settle in his palms. 

While Akira doesn’t think much of the gesture, Arsene is quick to rattle with a bone-shaking roar,  _ No! Thou must see they are likewise pure of heart...!  _

“...?!”

Akira doesn’t even have time to speak before a hand is promptly thrusted down into his line of sight. The limb is thick and squared, a seemingly perfect proportion to the rest of his well built frame. “Akira, huh...?” Akira tries to backtrack onto his thoughts, but ends up nowhere, fast. They’re pure of heart...? Who is  _ they?  _ And pure of heart--that... that doesn’t mean he’s... “That’s a nice name, honestly...” Arsene, what does that  _ mean _ ?  _ Answer me, dammit!  _

“I’m Seta--but please, feel free to call me Souji.” 

...Souji... Seta... 

Akira is absolutely  _ positive  _ he’s never heard the name before in his life. 

...So why does it sound oddly  _ familiar?  _

Akira knows that he shouldn’t but temptation takes his better judgement as he reaches to take the hand in his own for a proper introduction. It takes only a single moment, a second where their warm palms finally meet and fingers curl around each other where Akira is transported into a strange new world of flash images; vivid and gruesome snapshots of memories  _ that aren’t of his own.  _

“ _ I am thou... thou art I...”  _

A barren, desolate street. A silhouette atop a tower.  _ Police sirens. Caution tape. Loud voices. _

“ _ The time has come... open thine eyes...” _

A black TV screen. The sound of crackling, signaless static. An eerie, dense fog.  _ Shadows. Distortions. Freedom. _

_ “...Call forth what is within...!” _

The fog is thicker, thicker,  _ thicker.  _ A silhouette draws closer, closer,  _ closer.  _ Piercing yellow eyes bore deep, deep,  _ deep...! _ A wicked laugh cackles loudly, loudly,  _ loudly!  _ A katana gleams against the light brightly, brightly,  _ brightly--! _

Blue. Blue light. Blue fire. Blue everything. Blue.

The Velvet Room. 

Igor, grinning from ear to pointy ear...

...

_ “Izanagi...!!” _

_...?! _

Akira can’t retract his own hand fast enough, still feeling the tingling shock reverberate through to his fingertips. What  _ was  _ all that?! It feels numb now, tingly as if it’s lost the blood flow to the tips of his fingers temporarily. The young man--Souji, was his name--even with a few years of experienced age reflected on his face, shows a quick flash of astonishment as well as he reeled back to tend to his hand. Akira took note of a faint red mark across the skin of his palm--was... was he  _ burnt?  _

Wait...  _ did he see anything, too? _

Before the young teen could speak, he could feel Arsene chime in with a pleased purr of a voice,  _ Pleasure to make thine acquaintance... fellow _ Wild Card...

No... No way.

Akira can’t even process what’s going on around him as the movement around him shifts and starts and stops and halts completely all in a single, utter moment. Voices, he can carefully pick apart as Ann, Ryuji, and even Morgana, nearly snarling at the sudden attack, but with five voices accounted for, another suddenly adds to the mix and it takes Akira  _ another  _ solid moment to collect himself. 

“Heee-eeeee-eey, Partner! What’s all the commotion over here, huh?” It’s the same young man who had sat across from Souji earlier, Akira recalls, and the lanky figure hooks an arm over the towering giant as he scouts the table: three high school students and a rustling, moving bag with a cat head poking angily out of it. His feathery, brown hair bounces at the movement of his head, “Sooooo... You actually know these guys?” 

“Well, I do now...” Souji speaks, his tone still unwavering from that constant lightness it seems to hang on, but there’s a playful smile now tugging on his thin lips. “One of them, at least--”

“Wait, hold up--you said you  _ knew  _ them, a-and you just walked over here to meet them?! Oh geez... Oh my--” The young man turns towards Akira and the rest of the group, prying his arm away and motioning his innocence as he speaks, “I am  _ so  _ sorry about this--he’s usually not like this, I-I swear--r-right, Souji?” 

The taller male doesn’t help his own case as he bites back a smirk and shrugs without a single sound. 

The brunette sighs, and rehooks his arm back over the tall, towering shoulders beside him, “C’mon, l-let’s leave ‘em alone—“ another sudden shift in direction, “—A-Again, we’re, uh, we’re so sorry, a-and you guys have a good day...! Heh...!” 

Together, they peel away from the table and leave the students dumbfounded and curious. Did... anyone else feel anything?  _ No?  _

Akira is still entranced even as Souji casts a glance over his shoulder, polished platinums no longer boring and digging into dark granite irises, but mingling with them, melting in a pool of familiarity and understanding. Souji still has a crooked smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, but Akira sees it’s nothing malicious, “Take care, Akira...” The way his voice just cradles his name, enveloped in a soft and warm blanket but it’s the second voice that sends the shockwave rattling down his frazzled spine,  _ May our paths cross yet again in due time... _

_ Izanagi.  _

_ Souji’s true self... _

Akira can’t forge a response quick enough and by the time he finds the strength to speak, the two men are out of sight completely. For the first time in what feels like  _ years _ suddenly he picks up the distinct voices of Ryuji and Ann, with Morgana peppering in a comment here and there. They sound so distant and muddled and yet, they’re only inches from him. 

Slender hands, one slowly working to regain life into it, work their way through his thick, disheveled hair as Akira lets himself settle back down into his chair. He no longer feels hungry for the rest of his greasy meal. There are so many questions, so many fleeting emotions, all racking his brain and picking apart individual cells like overturned stones for answers, for explanations. 

He doesn’t get far, and he lets out a tired sigh.

Someday, he’ll ask Souji himself what they all mean. 


	2. Lightning Never Strikes Twice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! Remember like a half a year ago I said I'd take some of those comments up and follow up with another part to this story? Well, it's finally here... I just didn't expect it to take 6 whole months (whoops!). But alas! Out of all the things to happen during that half a year, I'm proud to say that I've finally started P4 and wow oh wow have I been so rigid over how "well" I wanna make sure I nail Souji's character down ("But Nilla, he's a protag... you can make him whatever you want!" True, but... Still. Lmao)
> 
> Anyway, sorry for the long long wait, but I do hope I've done our good boys some justice! I really, REALLY could see Souji being a sort of guiding, experienced (maybe even brotherly kinda) figure to Akira during his journey, even if these shitwads are trying to kill each other in he PQ2 trailer lmaoooooo
> 
> But regardless of all that, I hope you enjoy! :)

****

Akira doesn’t realize just how loud the ticking of the clock is overhead until it’s hammering loudly in his ears, a slow drawl of a cadence marching in time with the sleepy stillness of the cafe and muting out what little noise the old television protests. 

Idly wiping down the counter, Akira hears Sojiro hum to himself in thought, “...Might just close up early for the night. Not like anyone’s gonna stop by this late.”  The young man only offers a shrug and resumes his work, easily wiping away an old coffee ring with minimal ease. Sojiro continues, shifting to pop an unlit cigarette between his teeth, “Besides, I can’t have you slacking on your schoolwork. I see anything wrong with your grades... well, you know the deal.” 

“I know.” Akira responds flatly; without malice or defeat in his voice, just simple and matter-of-factly. 

Another hum from the elder, and he moves to turn the TV off with a swift click of the remote. Sojiro opens his mouth, ready to tell Akira to start cleaning up the booths when a sudden, unexpected chime from the doorway sings life into the sleepy, dreary little cafe. 

Both pairs of eyes glance up at the noise, but it’s Akira’s dark, murky gaze that sharpens and widens at the sight of a familiar soul.  _ No way... _ Akira too focused on the soft curve of a silver shining fringe under the dim cafe lights and the slight parting of thin, chapped lips in surprise to even remember that Sojiro stands only a few feet away, grumbling and fumbling with the old TV remote still balancing in his hands. 

No one moves, but Sojiro’s voice works its way through the silence like that of a gun starting a race. Swiftly, calmly, the patron takes his seat just as Sojiro finishes. They were just about to close. The young man frowns slightly, and Akira can  _ feel  _ Arsene dance at the familiarity of such a calm, soothing tone as he speaks, “Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve... never been here before and the sign still said--”

“I can help you.” Akira pipes up, but his own initiative shocks him as he steals a quick glance over towards Boss, as if awaiting reprimandation for speaking up. 

It never comes. Instead, Sojiro just shrugs and reaches for a gleaming lighter in his pocket, an unlit cigarette still bouncing haphazardly between his lips. With a low drawl, he leaves the two to their own devices, bidding them a short farewell on his quick break just outside in the alleyway. As the door chimes shut, Akira’s heart flutters with anticipation and childish excitement. The opportunity he’s wanted since that day at Big Bang Burger is finally here; the opportunity for all those questions to be answered and new life to be discovered: he finally had time to talk to Souji Seta. 

Though, heaven only knew just how long the man would stay seated... unless that was his plan the entire time? In that case, how did Souji know where Akira worked--where he  _ resided _ , technically? This seemed too fated to be coincidence--two Wild Cards face to face with each other, a  _ second  _ time? Akira felt flustered, overwhelmed at just all the questions swirling around his head--just  _ what  _ was acceptable to ask-- _ how  _ did he ask? Did Souji even recall of their previous meeting? What if--?”

“Ah, Akira-san... was it?” There’s absolutely no mistaking it. Such an unforgettable smooth and calming voice tamed not only Akira and his whirling thoughts, but also a fiery, lively Arsene who roared and called to the otherworldly being before him.  _ Calm down...! Why is it so difficult to talk to him? _ “Forgive me, I know it’s kind of rude of me to jump immediately to first name basis, but I had no idea that you worked here.”

“...Have you been here before?” Despite his nerves, Akira finds it suddenly so easily to let the question slip past his lips as he idly reaches for an empty cup, drying it in anticipation for Souji’s response.

“...No. Never.” Akira watches almost amazedly as Souji explained the reasoning for his unguided outing, how a quick hunt for a drink turned into a city-wide exploration with no clear destination until now. “...I can’t say for sure, but... It felt like... I was  _ guided  _ here.” 

Souji bears a blank expression as he fiddles with his hands, and Akira takes the opportunity to make his move, thinking he’s certainly catching the drift here. With a habitual push of his glasses, he says, “...Would... Would you say that, perhaps, your persona led you here?” 

Platinum-hued irises glance up, their usual gleam and shine muted softly in the dim overhead light of the bar. Despite the hard shadows playing on his face, Akira can see the older male’s lips upturn slightly. “That’s what I thought. It... It would seem that Izanagi wanted another meeting with you. I can’t say I didn’t disagree with the thought as well.” 

The young teen smiles slightly at the fact that he wasn’t alone,  _ Souji wanted to see him again.  _ To share experiences, to tell tales, to get answers, to find solstice in unity; they were one in the same, despite their differences.

Akira moves to open his mouth, but the subtle chime of the door snaps him to attention, dark wisps of hair bouncing lively in his vision at the movement. At first, he suspects another customer, but his alertness dies down at the sight of Sojiro, or, at least  _ should  _ have had an icy, dark glare not hung in the distance between them. He doesn’t understand what the issue is, why the sudden hostility, until Sojiro speaks--to Souji, that is, “This young man isn’t bothering you, or keeping you from ordering a nice fresh drink, _ is he _ ?” 

Souji hasn’t ordered. The only people who come by to loiter are his friends from school, the fellow thieves. Everyone else is a customer. Time is money, and even in his sleepy little cafe where time crept to a crawl in slow-motion, even Sojiro’s regular patrons wouldn’t have waited over ten minutes for him to make a cup of his finest blends. 

_ Shit.  _

Still, Souji’s too kind, and Akira finds the gesture beyond grateful as he waves a thick hand in dismissal, “No, not at all, thank you. He’s a friend of mine. We were just catching up.”

Sojiro’s expression remains sour as his dark, black eyes scan the kind face before him.  _ Friend,  _ albeit kind, is a rather  _ iffy  _ expression, given the circumstance. The man bears no affiliation to Shujin, let alone any other high school in the area thanks to his age. Not even a university or academics in general can yield a connection. “Familiar face from the hometown” can’t even give way to a practical lie as that only raises suspicion for the metaphorical jailbreak from his makeshift cell here at the cafe and it’s not like people just  _ bump  _ into each other at random out in public.

Except, in this case, they do. 

Luckily for Akira, Sojiro never presses the question, and instead simply begins to clean up around the two. Souji quietly orders a small cup, a simple dark roast and Akira works diligently as the sleek eyes watch him perform, crafting the steaming hot cup of coffee before placing it right before him.

There’s so much Akira wants to ask—about the Wild Card, about the Velvet Room and Igor, about those visions of the fog and about Izanagi—But Sojiro’s still in the shop, and letting loose anything even remotely tied to the Phantom Thieves is risky. Instead, Akira presses on to make small talk, “Coffee, this late at night?”

Souji smiles and Akira wonders if he’s taken the hint that he wants to talk deeper than this. “Yeah... it wouldn’t hurt. I always need to keep up with my partner.” Souji’s tone is so soft and warm, a hint of closeness lingering in his voice as they exchanged banter back and forth. His  _ partner,  _ Akira learns, is the young man with him that afternoon at Big Bang Burger, a young man named Yosuke Hanamura. Part of Akira wants to ask the context behind that word,  _ partner _ , but he refrains. It isn’t his ordeal to snoop in. Instead, let allows Souji to smile and continue, platinum eyes also casting a quick glance over at Sojiro taking a broom to the dingy tiled floor, “Yeah, that’s him. He and I... we’ve been through a lot together. I don’t think I trust any other person in the world more than I trust him, you know?” 

Akira nodded, his mind’s eye flashing to still images of the fog, of heinous television static and police tape and a gruesome laugh and he wants  _ so badly  _ to ask  _ what exactly  _ they’ve been through, even at the cost of explaining his own story. 

Another quick glance at Sojiro and they watched as the old man grabs for his jacket and hat perched neatly on the rack besides the stairs, “Alright, I’m off... Continue helpin’ this young man here but once he’s gone, lock up for me.”

And with that, he’s gone with a clambering of bells above the door ringing softly into the silence. 

“...You seem to be a rather interesting guy.” Souji speaks before Akira can even open his mouth. Akira simply watches him, dumbfounded for a second before he moves to reach for his glasses once more. Souji takes another sip, “I know this sounds strange, but... when I shook your hand before, I... or maybe it was Izanagi, I’m not sure—Regardless, I could... it was as if I could see through your eyes...” The thought hits Akira like a train and he pauses in his spot behind the counter. It only made sense, if he could see through Souji’s visions and find the land of fog, police lights and static, then he could see Akira’s distorted world of Mementos, the palaces and the treasures... But the inward cringe tightened in his jaw and grit his teeth,  _ what  _ did Souji see? “...Nevermind, perhaps I simply--”

“No. You’re right.” Akira spoke matter of factly, “When I shook your hand, it felt... electric, literally electrifying...! I-In fact, my hand even went numb for a bit...!” Souji pauses in mid-sip, a worried expression bending his face before Akira tried to kindly wave it away, “N-No, it’s okay now, but I mean, just... I could see some things too. I-I saw... this yellow-y kind of world, all this thick, heavy fog and those old school TVs everywhere... There was, um... There were police tape strung about, a-and torn portraits on walls, and... this guy--this, outline of a guy just... just standing there and--” Now it’s Akira’s turn to pause, watching as Souji hesitantly gulps down a slow and steady taste of his coffee, already nearly empty. He sets the cup down a bit heavier than intended and Akira reads it as a sign of negative reflection. Still... he  _ wants  _ to know. 

“Hm, M-Mister Seta--”

“Souji,” The man’s tone is warm still, contrary to his sleek, hardened gaze from the chair, “Please, call me Souji, Akira.” 

“Okay Souji, I... I have to ask--”

“Let me guess: ‘What’s it all mean?’” 

Akira’s cut back from the sudden intrusion, blinking in awe as the silver-haired stud fiddled with the cup in his large hands, watching intently as the cooling coffee sloshed about inside. “...I moved to a small town while I was still in high school a few years back called Inaba and I stayed with my Da--” Souji paused, a slight smile playing on his lips, “Heh, I mean my  _ uncle,  _ and his daughter, for the year. Right when I showed up, thought, I dreamt of this Velvet Room, then I awoken to Izanagi’s power and all these... strange murders started happening around town and we had to  _ literally  _ jump into this TV.” There’s a pause, a silent affirmation that he still holds Akira’s attention before he continues, “That  _ yellow-y world _ you were talking about? That was the Midnight Channel, or, just the  _ inside  _ of the TV. Myself, Yosuke, and our friends would have to save anyone the murderer would toss in. It was... it was certainly something I’d never forget.”

Akira opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated, the thought shot down at Arsene’s rampant stirring,  _ Doth this not sound familiar to thou? Awakening to the truth and opening your heart under odd circumstances and present danger... _

“I... I take it the police wouldn’t buy a story like that...?”

Souji peers up from his clasped hands and near-empty cup to shoot Akira a gaze of sarcasm, lighthearted and still polite, “Now, what makes you say that?” The two share a soft chuckle before Souji speaks softly, almost inaudibly once more, “Speaking of police...”  _ Oh. “ _ When I had seen though your Persona’s eyes, I... I saw... some woman crying, and... this older gentleman, you—you did something or—“

“ _ I _ didn’t do anything.” Akira snaps, his tone a bit rougher than he intended to be, “What I mean is, that  _ asshole _ ... I tried to help that woman and was falsely accused, and... because of  _ him _ —because  _ I  _ had to get tossed around like trash and land here in the crowded city and transfer to a whole new school and get labeled the  _ criminal _ , I... I awoken to Arsene’s power, the power of Persona and my, erm...  _ rehabilitation _ .”

Akira immediately reels off his outburst, slinking away from the counter and grabbing a towel to dry off a few cups Sojiro had left sit in slight embarrassment. He can feel Arsene’s power hulking his in muscles, surging through his veins at the heightened response—Akira failed to see the furrow in Souji’s brow as he took a final drink out of his cup. That soft voice behind him mutters in thought, musing softly and sweetly before finally chuckling to the soft clambering of the cooled coffee cup to the saucer, “Akira, while I don’t finally get that whole  _ rehabilitation  _ thing, I... I think I still understand.” There’s a pause between them, Akira motioning to take the empty cup away, hands close enough to Souji’s clasped own one’s on the counter that he can feel the static pull—Izanagi’s adventurous song lulling to the roar deep of Arsene’s calming prescience. Akira felt... relaxed now. Perhaps it was the fact he finally could talk to someone else who’d understand, someone more than just his friends, or perhaps it really was the power of the Wild Card. 

Souji carries on, his tone an odd blend of defeat mixed with warmth and comfort, “We seemed to have been on similar paths. You were thrown here into the big city because you were seen as a liability. I was thrown into Inaba because I was nothing but dead weight that couldn’t be shipped overseas, I guess...”

“Wha—?” Akira questions aloud, but the sight of seeing Souji’s entire demeanor shifting froze him to the core. He could feel a tightening in his own jaw and a familiar voice playback in his mind,  _ “Your parents wanted nothing to do with a criminal like you and now I’m stuck with you.” _ Akira shook the thought away and made it back towards the counter before the young man, “I thought... I thought you—“

“—Moved to Inaba by my own choice?” He chuckles, but this time there’s hardly any warmth; the noise is robotic and lifeless and it sends an eerie chill down the barista’s spine. “My parents, they’re... they’re busy people. Work takes them to late office shifts, hardly any days off, and even meetings around the world.” Souji reeled his gaze back up for the first time where his usual charm and familiar warmth had seemingly vanished. Akira felt entranced, captivated by the hardened glare and the thought of Souji, facing Shadows in that strange otherworld came to mind; a fearless, confident, and level headed leader who really already crumbled in his wake, but had to press forward no matter what. The elder male continued, “Of course, with their kind of business comes no time for fooling around. Unless I did something to honor the family name like win awards or overachieve in good grades, I was nothing more than just another mouth to feed.” 

Akira can already feel a sense of anger well up in his chest. How could parents act like this? No child is a robot, a tool or a trophy--they’re children who need to make mistakes and live life. Shitty adults. He’d have to remind himself later to look into the Seta family and see if an thieving intervention was needed. “So,” Souji continued, “when they both went overseas for work and left me to my Uncle, I thought it was because it was convenient. It... it probably was for them, but no sooner had I arrived, I... I dreamt of the Velvet Room and was told by... by some old man with a long nose and this woman that I needed to solve some great mystery, and just... Sure enough, that  _ mystery _ was actually who was the serial killer in Inaba.”

There’s a pause, a stillness between the two and Akira suddenly feels as if the air is too thick to breathe in. With the counter cleaned and dishes dried, he awkwardly shuffles over towards the apron rack, debating on taking off the garment for idle movement. Souji speaks once more, this time, the warm embers seem to rekindle, “Akira, I’m... Again, I don’t know what you mean exactly by  _ rehabilitation,  _ but... if you’ve entered the Velvet Room too and been given this power as well, then... then I think this is all meant to be.”

“I...” Akira suddenly finds his voice, lingering distantly by the edge of the counter, his nimble hands still fiddling with the tie of his apron, “I don’t even know what it means... I...” 

Another pause. Souji nods with a slight shift of his head, “I believe the Old Man has some kind of plan for you. Between the false accusation, staying here in this dusty cafe... dressing up and going into that... weird twisted subway thing—“  _ The Metaverse!  _ So Souji had seen the winding labyrinth in his own visions _ “— _ You’re here to accomplish something extraordinary, but... to also strengthen your bonds, and better yourself as a person. That’s... that’s what I believe it means to be a Wild Card... that’s what I felt, what Izanagi felt...”

Akira can only nod, overwhelmed by just whatever the hell feeling tightening around his muscles was gripping him hard and restrictive in such a way. He shed off the apron finally, feeling a strange heaviness in the pit of his chest. Souji’s been through his before, perhaps he could tell what this feeling was. This strange foreboding of a  _ destiny _ , or a  _ prophecy _ kind of deal, like in old fairy tales.  _ A reason  _ to be stowed away into Sojiro’s care, a  _ reason  _ he’s been labeled a criminal and stripped of his freedom, a  _ reason  _ he’s awaken to a stirring, rumbling Arsene and the power of Persona; the power of The Wild Card. 

What was it the fortune teller in Shinjuku said? ... _ The Fool arcana... holding limitless possibilities...  _

Wait, no, that wasn’t the fortune teller. In fact, Akira’s brow furrowed when he recognized the slight of a hazy, almost distant Velvet Room unlike his own. Clouds rolled on outside the tinted windows and drinks bubbled and fizzed with delicate movement.  An unfamiliar woman sat off to the side, her golden eyes gazing steadily as Igor moved his slender hands across the deck of cards. He smiled wide from beneath his large nose.  _ Akira... Akira... _

_ “— _ Akira?” Souji’s voice cut through, a sudden tone of concern and concentration laced within his words, “Are... are you alright?” Akira offered a light nod of reassurance but the other didn’t respond and instead let the sleepy stillness of LeBlanc settle in between them. The alleyway painted in a bright, bold tangerine orange in the setting sun outside, Akira followed Souji’s calm, tranquil glance outside the windows, letting this swirling world of infinity soak in around him. 

“Hm, may I ask you a question now?” Souji presses suddenly, pulling the attention back from beyond the outer walls. “Those... Those outfits, the masks a-and those clothes and... and that logo I saw in your visions—is... erm,  I don’t mean to be so direct, but... are you and your friends.... those Phantom Thieves?”

“...!” In all honesty, there was nothing to fear with Souji. If the secret where to be safe with anyone it really should have been him. But he still, at the end of the day, was an average citizen. He could run off to the police, he could spread the secret—he could ultimately ruin them with a single pair of loose lips. Akira feels his face grew flush as his dark eyes dart every which way from under his thick rimmed glasses. “Well... erm... I-I—“

“Akiraaaaaaaaaaa!” A sudden meow bellows from the bottom of the staircase, “What’s taking you so long? You said we’d get fatty tuna tonight and—“ The feline halts, his bright blue eyes widening at the young man sitting at the bar, “A-Akira...! That’s the guy from Big Bang...!” 

The young barista walks over, letting his slender hands glide across the sleek, shadowy fur in assurance. He nearly speaks up, when the familiar voice is now presently closer right beside him, “Ah, is this your cat, Akira?” 

Stunned and wide-eyed at Souji’s sudden closeness, Akira has to take a moment before he reels back in his stoic, steady expression, “O-Oh, yeah. His name’s Morgana.” Souji’s expression warms to that of a the midsummer sun’s rays. His platinum eyes brimming and twinkling with a childlike fondness and innocence, fall different than that of their previous conversation. Arsene’s presence is quiet, calm and not hindered by the newfound stimulation at the moment, and Akira believes Izanagi must feel the same way within Souji. “Souji, you... you can pet him if you’d like.” 

“A-Akir-- _ ah! _ ” Morgana yelps in protest, taking only a moment to melt into the soft feathery touch of the elder male’s hands as his rough fingers gently brush deep past the fur and lightly grazing the skin. 

The touch feels therapeutic as the feline melts into a purr, still fighting off any feelings of contemptment. Akira speaks, “You can trust him, Morgana. He’s one of us...” 

It’s a strange thing to say, to  _ mean.  _ He’s not a Phantom Thief, but he’s still one of us—a Persona-user; he’s one of  _ me,  _ a  _ Wild Card. _

Despite his contrasting expression of excitement, Souji’s tone and movements are calm and soothing, “...It’s unique... I feel as if he’s... he has a special aura about him...” 

“Morgana here is actually, um.... A Persona-user as well.” 

“Oh, really?” In a swift motion, Souji lightly hoists Morgana into his arms. 

There’s a flicker of confusion in Morgana’s sky blue eyes before finally closing softly into warm contemptment. A soft purr allows Souji’s cheeks to flush and stretch into a giggly childish grin before the cat mews, “See Akira... a little affection every now and then... ahhh, wouldn’t hurt!” 

“Um, last time I checked,  _ you’re _ the one telling us off and saying you’re not a cat.” 

“...Not a cat...?” Souji echos, a perplexed expression dancing across his features as Morgana still snuggled closely into his touch, “Huh... You’re still quite a handsome, loving cat to me...!” 

A few jesting chuckles are shared before the realization hits Akira. Souji can understand Morgana and his speech. The fact only validates the experience further, as if Arsene’s internal uproar and the vivid otherworldly images weren’t enough. The laughter dies down and Akira watches so Souji settles himself along the edge of the step, Morgana nearly lulling to sleep in his arms before he finally asks, “...Does it bother you... That... That Morgana talks, at all?” 

It’s a stupid question, and as the elder speaks, it’s as if Akira already knows the answer. He can hear his own voice paired in a duet with Souji’s as he responses, “...The things I’ve seen in the TV World would make a talking cat seem ordinary. I’m not bothered at all.” He smiles warmly, “Besides, I love cats...”

A comfortable silence settles in and Akira takes a seat alongside Souji on the stairwell, as if the static pull from Izanagi himself was drawing him closer. The pair sit and watch Morgana drift off into a comfortable doze, soft snores and huffs of breaths matching in time with the steady ticking of the clock on the wall. Still, Akira chokes on a tightness in his chest, a sweltering anxiety that festered and fumbled in the pit of his core as he carefully watched the elder.

Mister Seta was still an enigma, a mystery with a handsome face and a polite attitude to match; it only made sense that this man was a Wild Card like himself. 

There seemed to be the current Souji, outwardly a kind and polite young man content with what seemed like an average-lived life. There was the  _ true  _ Souji, Izanagi, a strong-willed spirit never fearing what lied ahead; always standing beside his peers and fighting with every ounce of strength he could muster as a true leader. Then there was the hidden Souji, the  _ shadow,  _ the one Akira swore he was  _ feeling _ rise like a lump in his throat; the one where the overwhelming fear of doubt worthlessness loomed like a cloud hanging overhead, never dissipating as it tied knots in his chest. 

Souji must have felt the pair of dark eyes study him as he peeled his attention off of the feline and up back to Akira, the hardened gaze underneath wispy, silver hair unwavering. The tightness in Akira’s chest began to burn as if a blazing flame, reaching out towards the bright, blinding lightning--Arsene. 

The voice carries only mere inches between them, but felt heavy and well-traveled, almost inaudible, “You’re hesitating...” Akira blinked, caught off guard. “You have a question, I can tell...” 

“...Inside the TV...,” Akira begins, fighting to find his own voice through the thick pressure weighing him down, “...W-What... What was...?” 

The silver fringe jostles in the slight movement of a nod and Souji tears his gaze away, “The TV World was... ah, how can I even explain it...?” Thin lips purse into a near grimace in thought, “ _ Different.  _ Part of it, I remember, looked like a studio, with cameras and lights, but... outside of that was, just,  _ different.  _ A carbon copy of Inaba, castles, bathhouses and strip clubs and... I... I think it alluded towards hidden desires and whatnot...” 

“...The Metaverse...” Despite the flash images in his mind’s eye, Akira’s full attention still remains on Souji’s platinum eyes.

_ “ _ My friends and I worked together to find out who was behind the string of murders in our small town. It turned out, the culprit was throwing victims into the TV World, and we’d see them on what we called the Midnight Channel. We’d go into the TV, fight shadows and save them...” 

“...The culprit...” 

“Former detective Tohru Adachi...”

In a flash, Akira sees a thick, dense fog replace the cozy cafe walls, TV static ringing harshly in his ears as a maniacal cackle breaks the sound. In the distance, there’s a figure hidden in the haze--a slender man with unkempt hair and a gun twirling dangerously around his finger. Golden eyes snap to attention--

And before Akira knows it, he’s back in the cafe. The same aged booths and worn bar shadowed by the dingy overhead lighting and the flickering street lamps outside within his sight. Though his disheveled bangs, he glances up at the clock--it's later than he realizes. 

“...That wasn’t all of the Midnight Channel, through.” The voice cuts Akira to attention and he turns back to face the young man, “We thought we were done with it after apprehending Adachi, but... Not even a year later, I went back to Inaba, and found myself in some... twisted version of the Midnight Channel. This... P-1 Grand Prix, er... whatever.” Akira blinked. This wasn’t in the visions... was it? The images moved too fast, mere blurs and splotches of color like one of Yusuke’s paintings flickering in his mind, too quick to process. Still, the tightness in his chest shifts into a kindering flame and Arsene stirs once more. “I had to fight my friends, th-thinking that Nanako--p-practically my little sister--was hurt...” His voice carried a distinct weight, not one necessarily for regret but of recollection, but one of Souji’s metaphorical facades, almost ready to crumble at any given moment. “...The strangest part of it all was, I found out there were more Persona users than just us...” 

He had moved to face Akira, failing to see the shift in Morgana’s stirring body. More Persona users? 

_ More who yield unwavering hearts... _

“S-So, t-there are  _ more  _ Persona users than just us--y-your team a-and mine and--?” Akira cut himself off, afraid to let anything else slip—his team, his  _ Phantom Thieves _ . Thankfully, Souji never catches on, and nods calmly, a slight frown tugging at his lips as Morgana begins to awaken and slither from his arms. It seemed he’d wanted to hear this as well. 

“I had known other Persona users existed, thanks to my companions. Let’s see... myself included, we had six people on the Investigation Team.... seven, if you want to count Teddie, but—” Souji tosses a light scoff, the wave of his hand making a silent statement as if to say  _ he doesn’t count.  _ Akira doesn’t pick on it as that kind of tone, however—maybe Teddie just wasn’t human. Regardless, Souji carries on a second later, “During that second time, I had met a large handful of others who also held the power of Persona...” A star-studded actress, a peewee baseball coach, an intelligent high school student and his dog (”I am serious, a knife-wielding dog, Akira.”), a bodybuilder, an astounding navigator, a prominent family name— but Akira felt the breath knock of his chest when he watched Souji’s expression harden at the last one, “There was even another Wild Card, just like us...” 

Questions begin to fumble out from the young man like a pouring faucet and Souji just shakes his head. Flustered and rushing to quiet himself, Akira hadn’t even realized he was speaking aloud. Everything just raced around in indefinite laps around his head. More Persona users...  _ More Wild Card users.  _

Who? How?  _ Why?  _ Were they given a purpose as well? A rehabilitation or a mystery to solve? As Souji explained even  _ more  _ questions racked the rattled brain. Who else was there? Someone before her?  _ Why was she a damn robot? How could a robot even  _ use  _ a Persona?  _ At least cats and dogs were living, sentient beings!

Souji could only shrug, “Unfortunately, I... I didn’t have much of a chance to speak with her. However... I had moved to shake her hand at one point, and... and it was the same deal as with you.” The visions, Akira could only guess. Flash images like snapshots of an adventure long passed. “It was...  _ odd.  _ At first, her visions weren’t... they weren’t her own. They were  _ someone else’s.”  _

Akira’s since closed the leaky faucet of his previously blabbering mouth. A solid gaze is enough to ask the question  _ why? _ Souji only shrugs once more again, as if reading the young boy’s mind, “I’m not sure why... I think it has something to do with the bond she shared with this... this guy. The memories I felt from her, from  _ him,  _ they were...  _ melancholy  _ in a way.” 

A beat of silence passes between the two. Morgana pipes up with a question about robots and reloaded memory like computers, but it’s shot down. Akira doesn’t doubt Souji for a second, as strange as it all sounds. Android or not, this woman was a Wild Card, and it would seem there was even  _ another  _ before her. A continuous stream of Persona-users... Akira wonders if he could question Igor about it without the girls snarling at him beyond the cell bars next time he dreams.

“...I can still... I can still see this one memory clear as day...” Souji’s voice is soft, almost inaudible, and Akira nearly leans in to listen. Silver plated eyes drift shut for a moment, recollecting in an enchanted story as he continues, “The woman, Aigis was her name... She’s standing before his guy... I-I see him reach out, and just...” Eyes open once more, Souji moves ever so carefully to graze his fingertips against the base of Akira’s throat. The sudden touch not only startles him, but suddenly everything feels as if it’s burning in a dangerous fire:  _ Arsene. _

The beast bellows out a roar, white-hot flames ravaging every muscle and cell in his body. Akira’s senses dull and the only thing he can feel is the numbness of static in his own fingertips:  _ Izanagi.  _

However, there’s a  _ third  _ feeling; a strange tightness in his chest and the overwhelming surge of tears threatening to spill out from his eyes. Akira knows he isn’t sad, but the feeling and raw emotion are powerful like chains weighing his frail body down and he fights to hold back the soft sob threatening to break out as he feels both the frenzied flames of Arsene and the eccentric electricity of Izanagi both die down. In perfect unison, he hears the duet of voices chime in calling:  _ Orpheus... The Master of Strings... _

Akira suddenly seeings a blinding white light. 

There’s an outline, a short, slender figure outlined in the brightness. His stature is still and slouched, but Akira can only slightly make out the more finite details like the long dark hair against his the nape of his neck or the hands perched steadily in his pockets. As the figure turns, Akira catches the hard gaze of crystalline blue eyes—

The very next instant, he’s back in the dusty little cafe. Souji’s fingertips no longer against his own skin but instead now dig through his once-neat and pristine head of hair, the movement disheveling it instantly. Akira has no words verbally, just the continuous slew of questions that seem to grow more than those being answered running rampant in his head. What, no,  _ who  _ was that? Orpheus... Aigis’ Persona...?  _ The young man’s Persona...?  _

Morgana is silent as well, moving to press himself close to Souji’s leg in an act of compassion. 

“I... I saw...” Akira was stunned, taken aback at an absolute loss of words.

Souji beat him to it, not picking his head up from his hand, “...You saw him, right? That young man...” He didn’t wait for a response, “He’s... he’s apparently no longer with us, but... it’s odd... I feel as if... I can sense he’s here... I can sense Orpheus...” 

The elder male’s voice is soft, trembling even as if it’s threatening to break. Akira, unsure of what to say next, acts on impulse as he rises from the step and reaches for a couple napkins, offering them to Souji. 

He declines, waving the napkins away with a polite smile. Akira could see the rising emotion in his reddened face, yet his eyes were still clear and tear-free. 

With Akira settling back down beside him, the three of them bask in the complete silence for a while, a thick stillness that marched along to the ticking of the clock above them. 

Content and calm, it was only until the harsh rumble of a bike engine roared down to quiet rumble by the door of LeBlanc and disrupted the peaceful atmosphere.

“Hm?” Akira watches in curiosity as the biker stops and hops off the motorbike, peeking into the panes of the front door. 

Souji, hurriedly pulling his face away from his hands, brakes out into a bright smile and waves, and the astounding one-eighty in emotion causes Akira to blink. 

The biker tosses his helmet off onto the bike behind him and nearly storms into the cafe. Both the barista and his feline perk at the familiar sight of a brown haired young man, his dark natural roots peeking beneath the doe-colored hairs. Despite the sheen of sweat matting down his thick bangs and the heavy padding of his riding jacket, it was evident to recall this was the slender young man who pulled Souji away the first time back in Big Bang Burger. “Dude?” The biker squints accusingly, “D-Did you get my text?” 

Raising a brow, Souji wordlessly reaches into his pocket and fishes out an ancient flip phone, the once metallic painted shell now cracked and scuffed down to bare white plastic as he flipped it open and glanced at the tiny screen. Akira wonders for a moment if that was the same phone Souji had during his adventures. Did the TV World mess up their phones like the Metaverse did his? “Oh,” Souji finally said, “I guess I didn't have the sound on...”

“Oh, for the love of—“ the sweat-slicked biker rolls his eyes and lets a hand rise to rub against the dark stubble peppered on his fair-skinned chin. He pauses, and lets his gaze focus solely on Akira for a moment. “You’re... you’re that guy from the burger place...” 

What did Souji tell him? Was it safe for him to know? Was it safe for this man to know the secrets of Persona and the other worlds around them and that strange TV world and the Phantom Thieves and— 

“I’m terribly sorry if he’s caused you any trouble,  _ again!” _ The young man bows out of apologetic courtesy, just like the previous time.

Souji rises from his spot on the step and waves it off in a smooth motion, “No, no, it’s okay. Yosuke, this is Akira and his  _ puuuuurfect  _ friend, Morgana.”—All three pairs of eyes stare at Souji completely deadpan—“Guys, this is my partner I was talking about earlier, Yosuke.”

“D-Dude!” The biker, Yosuke, speaks in a hushed tone, lips leaning close to Souji’s ear, “I told you, that word has a different meaning now than back in the day...!”

Souji turns to mutter something under his breath, leaning close back into the other man before he pulls away in time to watch Yosuke wither in a flustered panic. In achievement of his efforts, Souji merely smiles and makes mention of how he still needed to pay for his coffee. 

“O-Oh, it’s, uh... it’s really not a big deal—“

“I insist.” Souji assures, firmly but warmly, and there was not a single ounce of give in his voice. Concrete and steady, his tone alone made it so  _ easy _ to feel safe around him, never mind consider him a  _ leader.  _

Akira pads over behind the bar, and rings up the single coffee, a quick exchange overheard from the other two about the cup—“You want one?” “Dude who the  _ hell  _ drinks coffee  _ this  _ late?” “So... no?” “Yeah, no... but thanks, man.”—as he let the coins drop into his hand, and settle the balance. 

Souji, then, reaches for a stray pen lingering beside the register and a napkin, jotting down a singular string of numbers. Akira realizing it was a telephone number suddenly feels his face grow hot.  _ What? What are you doing? Souji, what--? _

“If you need anything,” Souji begins with an even, strong tone, “you call.” Yosuke paused and raised a suspicious brow at his companion. Out of the corner of his own eye, Akira notices Morgana eye the sleek fool carefully. “Be it you or the Ph—“ he hesitates, biting his own lip at the realization of his words. With an all knowing smirk, he continues a second later, “—your  _ friends, _ for anything. You call me. Yosuke and I will get the Investigation Team back together and help you all in any way we can.”

His offer is sincere. Akira can feel the radiance of Izanagi shine brightly at those words.  _ The Investigation Team.  _ The previous Persona bearers, passing the torch of experience on to the next generation, one heroic mission at a time. 

Akira nods, offering his thanks. He felt shy all of a sudden, meek and flustered at the action of sincerity, and before he could say anything else, Yosuke was already dragging the young man out of the shop by the waist.

“Oh, we’re  _ sooooo  _ gonna have a talk when we get back—!”

“Mmh~?” Akira could hear the playful smirk in Souji’s voice.

“Don’t—! Not like—! D-Dammit—!” Already at the door, a tomato-red faced Yosuke grits his teeth in embarrassment and politely hisses, “Have a good night. Thank you again!” 

With a swift chime of the front door, the two men waltz back out into the now dark alleyway, a single overhead light replacing where the sun once stood hours ago— _ Hours? Wasn’t he only here for a few minutes?— _ lighting their silhouettes. 

With a slight huff, Morgana lands up onto the bar counter, padding into Akira’s like of vision, “Whaddya think? Think we should trust them?” 

“Of course.” Akira responds almost instantly; instinctively, even. He keeps his gaze on the two figures outside in the flickering light, their outlines bickering over who wears the bike helmet on the way home, it seems. It looks as if Yosuke wins as he hands the headpiece over to Souji, and his handsome visage shrouded in the shadows is engulfed in the sleek design of the racing helmet. They hop onto the bike, bodies molding together to the roar of a live engine, and away they fly, out of the window’s frame of sight. 

Akira glances back down at the scribbled napkin, “...We can trust them.” He repeats himself, “It’s just... getting everyone else to do the same...”

“Well, don’t forget,  _ you’re  _ the leader! You decide what’s best for us, what’s best for those in need. We just need to be cautious...”

“I know, I just...” Akira sighs heavily, “It’s all so obvious...! The things he’s seen and done, t-the Android woman— _ that blue eyed boy,  _ they’re all...!”

“The—who?”

Akira’s brow furrows beneath his glasses. A chill runs down his spine at the mental image of  _ that boy-- _ slouched and silent, but determined and relentless--entering his vision once more, “What do you mean, who?!  _ That boy!  _ That kid who—!”

With a sudden yawn, Akira’s demeanor changes as he pockets the piece of paper and moves to grab the shop keys from under the counter. “...I think... maybe it’s best we sleep on it for now. We need to remain focused on the palace for tomorrow.” Slender hands reach up to push the thick rimmed glasses up onto his forehead and the rough patches of his palms dig into his eyes in a soothing, tiresome massage.

Morgana meows excitedly in agreement as he leaps off the counter and keeps a steady pace behind the exhausted young man back up the stairs. A single flick of a switch leaves LeBlanc shrouded in the Tokyo darkness around them. 

...

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Okay, please give me to me straight--how obvious is it that I still haven't played P4 yet? Then again, I've been so attracted to the plot of it since I first heard about it YEARS ago--it's what got me into the series in the first place, wowzers... So, okay yeah, I guess I know enough to pass this off. *shrug emoji*
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed (and oh god I hope this idea hasn't been done in to hell whoops uhhh)!  
> Feels good to finally crank a piece out again after a while! :)


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